“Peste! you are severe on the world; I always fancied that you were fond of it.”

“I do not know whether I am fond of it or not; it is certain that I scarcely should know how to live without it; but I surely may be permitted to pass an opinion on it, and I often tell myself that if Christ should reappear among us with his train of publicans and fisherman—­are you listening?—­that if the meek and the lowly Jesus should come to preach his Sermon on the Mount in the Boulevard des Italiens—­”

“To make a show of probability,” he interrupted, “suppose you were to place the scene at Montmartre.  Frankly, I cannot see what possible connection there can be between the Christ and your Count Larinski; and, pray, do not let us enter into a theological discussion; you know it is wholly out of my line.  Religion seems to me an excellent thing, a most useful thing, and I freely accept Christianity, minus the romantic side, with which I have no time to occupy myself.  You will at least grant me that, if there are true miracles, there are also false ones.  How distinguish them?”

“It is the heart that must decide,” said she.

“Oh! the infallibility of the heart!” exclaimed he.  “There never was council yet that voted that.”

There was a pause, after which M. Moriaz resumed:  “And so, my dear, you are persuaded that M. Larinski is still free, and that Mme. de Lorcy lied?”

“Not at all; if she had lied, she would not have betrayed herself so naively just now.  I accuse her of deceiving herself, or rather of having wished to deceive herself.  Do you know what you are going to do—­I mean this evening—­after dinner?  You are going to order up the carriage, and you are going—­”

“To Paris, Rue Mont-Thabor!” he exclaimed, bounding up in his seat.  “Very good, I will put on a dress-coat, and I will say to Count Larinski:  ’My dear monsieur, I come to demand your hand for my daughter, who adores you.  Certain malicious tongues assert that you are no longer free; I do not believe them; besides, this would be a mere bagatelle.’  On the whole, I believe you would do better to put it down in writing for me; left to myself I never will get through with it; out of my professor’s chair I have considerable difficulty in finding words!”

“Dear me, how hasty you are!  Who suggests such a thing?  Abbe Miollens is our friend; he is a worthy man, whose testimony would be reliable.”

“Now this is something like!  I see what you mean.  At this rate you will not need to prepare my harangue.  Here we have an acceptable idea, a possible interview.  This evening, after my dinner, I shall go see Abbe Miollens; but it is clearly understood, I presume, that if he confirms the sentence—­”

“I shall not ask for its repeal, and I promise you that I will be courageous beyond anything that you can imagine; you shall not so much as suspect that I even regret my chimera.  But, as a fair exchange, you on your side must make me a promise.  If Abbe Miollens—­”